


It Never Gets Easier

by WintersCaptain



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: cw:child death, cw:stillbirth, so fuckin sad, this is really sad ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 23:24:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17672114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WintersCaptain/pseuds/WintersCaptain
Summary: The birth of the Marston's daughter doesn't go to plan.





	It Never Gets Easier

**Author's Note:**

> The dialogue in RDR1 is that Abigail and John had their second baby after he left the gang, but I’m gonna put this before RDR2 and nobody can stop me!! Ha! Ha! Suspension of disbelief! I work in theatre! Roll with it! I just need John’s boys with him for this okay?
> 
> Let’s also suspend our disbelief that Abigail and John aren’t Fighting All The Time at this point in their relationship. 
> 
> Fun and games aside, this is pretty goddamn sad and I cried writing it. 
> 
> Originally requested by tumblr user cannot-find-a-veinn
> 
> CW: stillbirth

 

The hours grew more and more excruciating as they passed. Abigail’s groans and wails set John’s teeth on edge. He paced. He paced and paced and paced, but could do nothing. _It’s just like last time. Nothing to worry about, Marston. Just like Jack. She was fine. Just like last time._

Mrs. Grimshaw had been by her side for hours, holding her hand and cooling her with a wet cloth. Karen had been in and out, looking paler each time.

Arthur handed John a lit cigarette, and John pulled hard, flicking the ash as he continued to pace.

“You’ll wear a trench in the dirt pacing like that.” Arthur sat at the table, playing cards by himself. The rest of the men left camp when Abigail’s labor started, Dutch included. Only Hosea and Arthur stayed behind, both for John’s sake and their own peace of mind. Tilly took Jack into town and had elected Arthur to send word when the baby arrived.

Hosea pretended to read in his usual place by the poker table. The tight set of his crossed ankles betrayed his nerves for Abigail, John, and the baby.

“It doesn’t get easier, listening to her in pain like that.” John’s shoulders climbed toward his ears and his jaw was tight.

Arthur shook his head. “No, it doesn’t.” His eyes did not lift from the cards. He thought of Eliza.

John kicked himself. Of course. Arthur was there when Jack was born. Arthur knew. He didn’t have to explain himself to _Arthur_ of all people.

John lit a cigarette with shaking hands and continued his pacing, pulling heavily. Ash fell at his feet and his remaining hand ran roughly through his hair.

“Sit down, Marston. You’re scaring the women,” Hosea said.

John took a shaking breath and tossed his cigarette, grinding it into the dirt with his heel. He sat next to Arthur, his knee bouncing violently.

A wild, feral cry came from the tent and John’s heart nearly stopped. 

The silence, cut only by Abigail’s breath and Mrs. Grimshaw’s muddied, soothing encouragement, was deafening. Arthur and John found themselves on their feet. Waiting, as they had for Jack, for a cry. They held their breath.

It didn’t come.

Inside the tent, Mrs. Grimshaw washed the little girl of her birth. She had seen enough babies to know that the bluish purple tinge of her skin wasn’t right. She didn’t cry. She thought she got to the cord in time. She had moved _so fast_ to uncurl it from her neck…

“She’s not breathing,” she muttered to herself. She patted her back gently with one hand, clearing her nose of debris with the other. _Please, sweetheart. Breathe. Breathe for me. For your momma. Just one._

There was no struggle, no fight, in the little newborn.

“Susan, why isn’t she crying?” Abigail’s tight voice barely veiled her panic. She tried to sit up, her face devoid of color and shining with sweat. “What’s wrong?” This question was a wail.

John crept toward the tent, Arthur at his shoulder. He couldn’t hear anything. Wasn’t he supposed to hear something? Hosea stood, closing his book. He watched, hawkish.

“Just a moment, my darling.” Mrs. Grimshaw tried to keep the tears from her voice, though they were rolling down her cheeks. She wrapped the little girl in the linen set aside for her and brought her back to Abigail.

Abby hiccupped a sob, reaching out for her. “Rachel, my Rachel,” she whispered to no one in particular. Susan placed her in Abigail’s arms. “My sweet girl. I love you. I love you so much. I’m so sorry.” Her murmurings continued, making little sense. Tears rolled down her face and down her bare chest. She held the little girl to her skin, rocking back and forth.

“Take your time. I’ll get John.” Mrs. Grimshaw leaned over her, smoothing her hair back and pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

Susan stepped out of the tent and met John’s eyes. They said enough.

“John, darlin’…” She started. In front of her, she saw not the man, but the twelve-year-old boy Dutch brought home for them, so many summers ago.

John’s knees buckled. _No._

“Abigail’s alright,” Susan rushed to add. She stepped toward him, hands reaching for his cheeks and shoulders – anything she could touch to give him even a little warmth.

Arthur caught him before he hit the ground, his arms under John’s. “Go to her. Share this with her. She needs you.” His arms grounded John to reality.

John pulled himself to his feet, numb. Loving and gentle hands led him to the opening in the tent, steadied him, and disappeared.

When his eyes adjusted, he was alone with his wife. She stared at him with an empty grief that scared him to death, a tiny bundle in her arms. Saying nothing, he crossed to her, sitting at her side. She gave him some space, and he curled around her, seeing his daughter for the first time.

She was painfully peaceful, her eyes closed with lashes resting on soft, round cheeks. He saw himself in her pursed mouth. But there was no life. _Born still_. He’d heard this happened all the time. _But Abby was so healthy. The baby…_

They sat in silence for a long time, stroking her tiny face and letting the tears fall.

Oddly, John thought of Arthur. _He was so angry when I left. I never…I never understood._ He sniffed, swiping at his eyes with his sleeve.

“Rachel,” Abigail whispered.

“Rachel Elizabeth.”

She nodded, looking upon her daughter’s face. Abigail leaned into the man she loved, and gave in to her exhaustion.

~***~

Abigail stared at the marker, made by Hosea and Arthur out of her favorite kind of tree from New Austin. John stood beside her, an arm around her waist. She had just returned to her feet, but she was immensely sore and on limited activity until cleared by Mrs. Grimshaw.

John kissed her temple. “I love you.”

She swallowed, trying not to cry. She felt she’d been constantly damp with tears since Rachel’s birth. _It would be nice to break the habit._ “I love you too, John.” She looked up and smiled at him, shaky and watery. “I’ll never hate you less, though, so don’t let it go to your head.”

John’s lips upturned. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

RACHEL ELIZABETH MARSTON  
_June 18 th 1897  
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth._

**Author's Note:**

> Whew that was sad. Jesus. Tell me what you think! I live and breathe for feedback. 
> 
> I love you all. Check out my other works for Red Dead [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17649389) [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17400848) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17426279). I'm shouting about cowboys 24/7 on my [blog](https://laughingloki.co.vu), and currently taking requests there as well. 
> 
> Much Love,  
> Tali


End file.
